Galvanizing Your Dreams

Your skin has been replaced with metal.
Your mother and father get divorced
after 30 years of marriage and become
birds that kill themselves by swooping
into your chest. They leave pieces
of their beaks and feathers in your rivets and seams.
Suddenly everyone at the party remembers
you’ve been orphaned
and your own body doesn’t respond,
your muscles can’t act
from freewill but only out of automation.
Your mouth and tongue dry up,
even more quickly when someone’s been
in your mouth poking at your cheeks
with thick beaked lips.
Most of the daylight has stopped falling
and light’s conduit descends directly
on everyone else around you
until your only sunshade.
Soon, not a single snippet of light
is actually cast on your skin.
Without the vitamin D and no way to
see in front of you, thus no way to eat,
you get rickets. Everyone just believes
you are their missing piece of retina,
their blind spot, springing to life.
Out of mental unease
no one mentions it to one another,
shaking their heads during the first few moments
then pretending not to take notice
of this dark spot that stumbles about
the room, running into chairs
and knocking over the punchbowl.
After they leave, only in their most
private moments, laying next to their
most trusted ally, do they ask about it
or even try to figure out
who was assuredly cast in black.